


in the year of '74

by newsoftheworld



Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Guilt, Near Death Experience, also she makes me, and also quite possibly dear friends, brian grapples with near death, brian writes now i'm here from his hospital bed, brian's in the hospital for hep, cheating (mentioned), collections of blurbs set during the summer of 1974, peaches (mentioned), queen is busy recording sheer heart attack, the boys help cheer brian up, the prophet's song begins from a dream, this is basically my outlet for what i imagine happened after their first american tour
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-11
Updated: 2019-06-12
Packaged: 2020-04-24 13:32:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19174303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/newsoftheworld/pseuds/newsoftheworld
Summary: Consciousness is a blurred spectrum, and Brian May finds himself navigating its extremes in a most circuitous fashion.





	1. oh, people of the earth

**Author's Note:**

> hello & welcome back to: my shameless attempts to imagine what may have happened.
> 
> i've always been curious about how brian dealt with the severe illnesses he experienced during the summer of 1974––he's spoken about it here and there, but nothing complete enough to satisfy me. so i took that knowledge, paired it with what we know about the songs he wrote during that time, aaaand... this is the result.
> 
> i'm calling this a "collection of blurbs" to allow myself the freedom to post updates consisting of less than 1000 words, lmao. but it will be following the continuous timeline (although there may be jumps here and there).
> 
> feedback is amazing as always, it helps me feel less alone in my curiosity.

Consciousness is a blurred spectrum, and Brian May finds himself navigating its extremes in a most circuitous fashion.

Deep, dark patches of the unknown paint his mind––he’s swirling around, a mere speck in the whirlpool of dreams. It weighs heavy on his chest, engulfing him with its persuasion until the air is squeezed from his lungs.

_I don’t want to die._

A kaleidoscope of colors and faces roll past him––dull colors of the city, bright lights of the stage, jarring red, then black. The faces of loved ones new and old, of friends, of strangers. Wishing he could reach out and touch them but paralyzed by sleepiness, he can only watch as the vibrant images fade and slip from his vision.

_Darkness._

Fear claws at his throat, and he wants to scream––was she real? Did it all really happen? Or did he simply imagine it all––an elaborate concoction of his overactive mind? The possibilities torment him to no end.

 _“Oh, people of the earth.”_ An eerie voice surrounds him in the darkness, summoning an ominous blanket of deep magenta that spirals around him. “ _Oh, people of the earth.”_ The voice repeats itself, this time louder. It propels him upward, floating slowly to the brim of consciousness.

_Lightness._

Heartbeat faint in his chest, Brian tries to open his eyes. He can see the sunlight through his eyelids, but his facial muscles don’t seem to want to contract. With effort, he raises his hand to his face. _Ow!_ Groaning at the dagger of pain that shoots through his abdomen, he sucks in a breath.

Prying an eye open with his fingers, his retina is assaulted by the harsh afternoon light streaming through his bedside window. “Shit.” His voice sounds foreign, hollow with vulnerability. Wincing, he focuses his eyes on his surroundings. _White walls, white sheets, white gown._

He frowns. _Where…?_ A searing flash of memory strikes him, bowling him over with its intensity.

_New York City._

_Uris Theatre._

_Sirens._

_JFK._

_Darkness._

Feeling begins seeping back into his body, the flood of aches and pains filling him with an agony so deep he feels as though he might faint. Floundering for the energy to cry out, he opens his mouth––but only a shallow breath is released, taunting him with its calmness.

 _Maybe this is a sign from the cosmos._ The thought creeps up on him before he can stop it, and it fills him with an icy dread. _It was all was too much, too fast… I lost myself, in the excitement._

A dull throb of pain thumps in his arm.

 _I’m going to die._ An odd sense of resignation settles over him, encouraging the bud of guilt to blossom in the back of his mind. His bottom lip trembles, index finger twitching against his chest. _I’m going to die a disappointment––to my parents, my band, my girlfriend…_

Memories of Chrissie play before his eyes, the moving images crackling like old film. Her smile, her laugh. She reaches out to grab his hand, to pull him toward something… _gone._ Disappearing into thin air, the softness of her voice echoes in his ear.

_“Brian.”_

His eyes are useless, zooming in and out of focus with reality. The whitewash walls turn to brick, then wallpaper, molding itself to its liking until he’s transported back in his hotel room.

_“Jesus Christ, do you see him? He’s yellow as a daffodil!”_

_“I know! Fuck, fuck, fuck–”_

_“Cab’s ready outside, we have got to get him down.”_

_“Someone help me get this bleedin’ bastard to his feet.”_

Strong hands, cheap leather seats, airport security. Every sound, every sight, every sensation is woven together in a collage of nightmares. Desperate to return to his hospital bed, Brian closes his eyes and sinks deeper into the mattress.

_“Oh, people of the earth.”_

The elusive thread of consciousness slips through his fingertips.

_Darkness._


	2. my love... she makes me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this really has ended up becoming just a broken stream of consciousness... i think after this "chapter", i'll start to actually incorporate concrete aspects to the story i'm attempting to recreate. he's still deep in the trenches of his illness here, so i think this is fitting ;)
> 
> thanks for the response on the first little blurb! more should be on its way soon

Breathing is difficult. Never before in Brian’s life did he need to focus _this_ _much_ effort on the process. It hurt, too.

“Is it your stomach again? Do you need me to fetch the doctor?”

Blinking, he carefully turns his head to the side. The worried gaze of his girlfriend makes his skin crawl with guilt. “No, it’s alright. Just tired is all.” Her tiny hand on his does little to ameliorate the situation, but he derives some sense of comfort from the gesture.

Stroking the back of his hand gently with her thumb, Chrissie sweeps her long auburn hair behind her shoulder. “I can keep talking if you’d like, fill you in on Tom’s latest dating mishaps.” Pausing to giggle, she continues in a softer voice. “Or I can just sit with you awhile, until you fall asleep. If you think that’ll help.”

Nodding weakly, Brian offers a small smile. “Just having you near me is all the comfort I need. I appreciate it, Chris, I really do.” He means it, too.

Leaning over the metal bars lining his cot, Chrissie places a kiss on his cheek. “Isn’t that my job? Taking care of you? I couldn’t bear if anything happened to you, and I’m sure you’d do the same for me.” Squeezing his hand in reassurance, she relaxes back into the rigid hospital chair. “I know that mind of yours is always moving a mile a minute, Bri, but try to slow it a bit, yeah?”

Burnt orange shadows of the evening sun filter through the window, encircling Chrissie’s head with a golden glow. Her expression is hesitant, worry etched into the lines of her forehead.

Brian nods. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

They sit in silence for a while––only the sound of their breathing interrupts the monotonous silence of the quarantined room.

Mellowed by the painkillers, Brian closes his eyes. The image of his surroundings sears itself onto the inside of his eyelids––the “get well soon” cards, the flowers, and the stuffed penguins littering the small table in the corner of the room, the stack of books haphazardly piled next to his bed, the IV machine, and Chrissie. So many gestures of love in one room, and yet…

_Is it deserved?_

He thinks he knows the answer to this recurring question, and it does little to boost his spirits.

As he begins to fade nearer to sleep, he ponders on whether to divulge his liaisons to Chrissie. _She deserves to know. Doesn’t she?_ Wincing at the pain that rockets through his abdomen, he finds himself evaluating the worth of honesty.

Before he can think too far, Brian catches a glimpse of red––deep crimson effusing from the corners of his thoughts. The haunting notes of a piano trickle into his ear, and suddenly he’s thrown back, into the city and into the room that keeps his heart under lock and key.

 _“Really?_ You’re _a guitarist?”_

Beautiful music and enchanting orange lights surround him. The room slowly melts into focus, but it’s empty––he’s alone, sitting at the same table.

_“I suppose you can buy me a drink.”_

Her voice is in his ear, and he longs to see her, to touch her. To feel her dainty hands on his chest as she dances to the music. The sway of her hips is mesmerizing, and he’s certain it’s something he could watch for days.

 _“Ah, so you’re one of_ those _poets.”_

A sad smile rises to his lips. Fragmented memories of the hushed secrets they shared in the shadows of a booth hover around him, taunting him with their vividness.

 _“Awfully bold for a man I’ve only just met.”_ Her laughter twinkles in the empty space.

Brian holds onto the feeling for dear life, certain that something of this magnitude might never be found again. _Surely the world only has room for one such beauty_.

Hopelessly ensnared, he feels himself begin to fall through the floor and into the depths of the memory. Reaching out to grasp at the tendrils as they fly by, his heart sinks to his stomach when his fingers pass right through––like smoke. Wisps of faintly-colored orangeness caress his cheeks, fluffing his hair as they make their departure.

Emptiness gnaws at him in the darkness.

_My love… she makes me._

His heart aches to be near to her––he’d do anything, anything at all, to return to that moment and live in it forever.

_Time and space be damned._

The implications, quite frankly, are terrifying.

Each time he thinks he can’t possibly feel any stronger, and then something comes along to blow it out of the water. This one, though––this one he’s certain will never be equalled.

_She makes me need._

His thoughts swim precariously as sleep looms before him. Reluctantly, he relinquishes his hold on her and instead returns to the image of Chrissie, sitting dutifully beside him. Effortlessly domestic, comfortingly familiar. Warmth blooms in his chest, and deep down he knows practicality will be the winner in the end.

_She is my love._


End file.
